


The Tomcat and The Tie

by the_haven_of_fiction



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 14:30:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3450572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_haven_of_fiction/pseuds/the_haven_of_fiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A woman meets Tom at hotel where a party is being held.  Assistance with a tie is needed...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tomcat and The Tie

**Author's Note:**

> Rated as Mature due to non-explicit inclusion and reference to what could be considered as D/s practices.

_Why couldn’t you have picked a nice run of the mill field, one that didn’t require contact with humans?_

I asked myself this question again as I raced through the parking lot and into the hotel.  Late yet again.  It was always on my list of New Year’s Resolutions.  This year, I had made some progress for a few weeks.  By the time February rolled around, I was back to my old habits of getting distracted and allowing time to get away from me.

It had taken some extremely smooth talking to convince the owner of this catering business that I wouldn’t be a problem for him.  I was in my second year as a sociology professor and was currently deciding upon specifics for my next area of research.  The idea of how different SES factors affected treatment of food service workers was a starting point for one of my ideas.  I only wanted to work one event as some preliminary research.  Mario was finally won over when I offered to give his granddaughter some free tutoring.  It had been years since I worked in food service, back when I was a sophomore in college, and that hadn’t been for formal events like this. 

And I was late, which made my crankiness even worse.

Mario had texted me earlier in the afternoon and told me that I could take part in the event he had lined up for the evening, a birthday party for some celebrity at one of the swanky hotels downtown.  Normally I would have jumped at the chance, but I was cranky and hormonal and just wanted to stay at home in my jammies and read the latest journals to get caught up on similar research to my own before the semester progressed much further.  I’d had a series of small frustrating events throughout the day that were exacerbated by my hormonal state, including discovering that I had been placing the filter incorrectly in my fish tank for years; not a big deal in the grand scheme of the universe, but it was one of those small things that happened that made me feel stupid. 

Mario’s instructions had included the dress code for his employees.  I had to run across the hall and borrow a tie from my neighbor Rick, who had just come home from a double shift at the hospital and looked like he was going to pass out.  I grabbed the first dark tie I saw in the closet and dashed out of his apartment as he was collapsing in a heap on the couch.  Throwing the tie into my bag, I gave him a kiss on the cheek and yelled “Thanks! And thanks for movie night yesterday!”

I was darting through the halls of the hotel, trying to find the correct entrance to the kitchen, when I realized that I didn’t know how to tie the thing. 

For some reason, that was like the straw that broke the camel’s back.  I started crying.

Not just crying, bawling.  Like I was five years old and my scoop of rainbow sherbet had just fallen off the top of my cone onto the hot pavement and began to melt immediately.

I went into the first door I saw, seeing the “Restroom” sign that was blurry because of my tears.

There was a sort of anti-room with two large padded chairs on either side of a small table with a flower arrangement.  I sank down into one of them, dropping my bag on the floor and my head into my hands.

I should have just stayed home.  There were dozens, hundreds of caterers in this city.  I could find another one.  I would send Mario a nice card, explaining the situation.  He’d get over it.  I could still tutor his granddaughter. 

_Just cry it out and then go home.  Tomorrow is another day._

The first thing that alerted me that something wasn’t quite right was the sound of the flushing.

I noticed it as I fished around in my always chaotic bag for some tissues.  My hand caught the tie and I pulled it out, gripping it in one hand.  The sight of it made me cry harder. But the flushing…

_That doesn’t sound right…does it?_

The thought was overtaken by my next thought, that the flushing indicated someone would soon be passing by me to exit the restroom.  I located the tissues and quickly attempted to dry my face and my nose.  Who wants to see a stranger having an ugly cry in a hotel restroom?  Especially the kind of rich snobby guests who would be at a place like this.

I was on my fourth tissue when I heard velvet.

How can you hear velvet?

Maybe I was hallucinating and starting to hear fabric.  Fabric that I wasn’t wearing.  Didn’t this happen on an episode of _House_ once?  Did they diagnose the person before it was too late?  It must be a brain tumor.

_I’m too young to die!!!_

Then I heard his voice again.  His voice.  Not velvet.  I wasn’t having a breakdown. 

_HIS VOICE?_

Flying monkey butts, I was in the men’s restroom.

“Do you need help, miss?”

I was afraid to look up from my soggy tissue.  With a voice like that, I knew he was going to be handsome.  He had to be.  And the accent.

_Accents are no indication of physical appearance.  Pull it together, SCIENTIST._

“Can I assist you in any way?” was the second concerned question.

This voice, it was familiar.  I’d heard it recently, somewhere.  Where? 

My sudden sifting through mental files was halted when I felt his hand rest very gently on my shoulder.

A big hand.

A big warm hand.

Then he had the nerve to start doing that sort of wispy rubby up and downy thing across my shoulder to my upper arm.  It was tentatively done, as if he was aware that a stranger might not welcome it, but waiting to see if I would pull way.

_He could be a total creeper! Get out of here!_

Ugh, it felt amazing.  I could feel myself relaxing.  This was completely normal, wasn’t it?  Bawling in a men’s restroom and having a stranger with a posh British accent who was probably an arrogant aloof prick make a pass at you?

  1. _He’s simply being a caring chivalrous human being, something you often complain about because there seems to be a lack of it these days._



What was I, stupid?

_Don’t move or he’ll stop!!_

I tried to speak, but I was basically half-choking, half-hiccupping from the severity of my crying.

I felt the soggy tissue being extracted from my hand and a fresh one placed in it.

“Here you are, darling,” murmured close to my ear.

_DARLING?_

He was still rubbing my arm, making little circular patterns with his open palm.  He was very good at this.  Too good. 

I was going to have to speak at some point.

“Can I do anything for you?” he asked again.

Still wary of actually looking at him, I thrust my hand out and managed to squeak “Can you tie this for me?”

My eyes flew open when he laughed.  Everything I had supposed about him seemed contrary to this sound.  It was…it was gleeful.  Completely gleeful.  Like a child’s laugh.  Free, honest, and gleeful.  It was also short.

“Oh, my goodness!  I’m so sorry! I don’t mean to laugh at your distress.  It’s just the first time a woman has ever asked me that.”

An adorable mix of self-reproach and horror was filling his face.  Which, as I expected and wasn’t incorrect about, was handsome.  Incredibly handsome.  Excruciatingly handsome.  Excruciatingly devastatingly handsome. 

I opened my mouth to speak again and it came to me in a flash.

_IT’S LOKI, YOU EEJAT! FROM THE MOVIE YOU WATCHED WITH RICK LAST NIGHT!_

  1.   He definitely seemed nicer in person, except for the laughing.  Much nicer.  He explained the laughing.  Perhaps too nice.  A woman had never asked him to put those lovely slender hands to work on a tie?  He must be use to non-creative women. It was the perfect ridiculous reason to be close to him.  Very close to him.  Too close.



This was a mistake.

He was going to be too close.

I was going to melt from his beauty and shinyness if he was that close.

_Well, we all have to go somehow... last month you crossed off the Neil Diamond concert from your bucket list…you can end this life on a high note…_

I looked directly into his eyes.

That was DEFINITELY a mistake.

I wanted to close my eyes, but it was impossible.

I couldn’t look away.

He was smiling.

It was dazzling.

It was intoxicating.

It was personally insulting.  How was it possible for a man to be this beautiful.  He wasn’t wearing make-up.  There wasn’t any mascara, any lip gloss (in fact, the poor guy could use some Burt’s Bees, for sure).  He looked like he had been born air brushed.

_You are crazy._

I somehow managed to tear my eyes from his when I was distracted by the subtle movement of his arms.  He had taken the tie from me and was slowly running it through his hands.  Pale veiny hands.  Delicate but somehow also strong hands.  Hands that belonged on the ceiling of a chapel in Vatican City.

I wanted to lick them.

_LICK THEM???!!!_

Oh, this was no bueno.  Strangers don’t like having other strangers lick their hands, as a general rule.  Even some lovers don’t like having lovers lick their hands.

The black silk was gliding across his skin.  Dark chocolate on vanilla.

_I wonder what he tastes like.  Probably strawberry lemonade.  Maybe that changes for the seasons.  Maybe he tastes like peppermint at Christmas.  Maybe -_

“I’d be delighted to tie this for you.  Would you mind standing?”

Velvet again. 

I blinked.

Did I know how to do that?  Stand?

That required muscle control.

I don’t think I had that at the moment.

“Uhm.”

That was all I could say, since I was still staring at his hands.

_I want to groom you like a cat. We can start with those lovely paws and then move to the neck area, which looks quite delectable.  I wonder if it tastes different up there.  You also have lovely whiskers.  They would feel wonderfully and perfectly rough against my tongue._

I heard a sound that was like a cat purring.

Oh, no, I was having another hallucination.  Swanky hotels didn’t keep cats in their restrooms.

_IT’S YOU. YOU’RE MAKING THAT SOUND.  STOP._

My eyes flew back to his.  I’d never seen someone who was so amused and trying so hard not to laugh.  It was obvious that he heard it as well.  But he was also blushing.  That knowledge overcame my embarrassment. 

I coughed.

“Yes.  Yes, I can stand.  I learned when I was a baby.  I’ve been doing it for years.”

_DEAR GOD, PLEASE HELP ME STAND.  PLEASE._

He laughed again.  Actually, it wasn’t a laugh.  It was a giggle.  A giggle with distinct syllables.

But this time.

This time he closed his gorgeous blue eyes and threw his head back.  It put his neck on full display, like some kind of exotic animal in the wild who was trying to attract a mate with this stylized display.

That was when I noticed the freckles.

My feline urges went from grooming to love mauling in about a nanosecond.  I was afraid I was going to literally start drooling.  My throat hurt.  Everything hurt.

He spoke again, so hushed that he was almost whispering.

“Fasten the top button and turn up your collar, little kitty.”

_I HATE YOU._

I obeyed.

_WHAT?_

He moved closer to me.

_THIS IS A MISTAKE!!_

The smile was still there, but it was changing.  His arms were raised and he put the tie over my head.  With a slight tug at both ends of the tie that were encased in those very lickable hands and a brief pressure on my neck, he subtly made me take a step or two closer to him without saying a word.

Oh, he was good.  Very good.  Too good.  Too good at this, probably too good at basically everything.

The next words uttered in that unacceptable low husky tone put me back in the “I don’t think I can stand” mode.

“Good kitten.”

Amusement and something else were now dancing in his eyes.

I wanted to scratch them out.  And my own.  This was ridiculous.

My face must have betrayed what I was thinking because he clucked his tongue at me while his brow furrowed slightly as he adjusted the silk and began the tying process.

“Your expression is rather feisty.  You must be feeling betTEERRR!!” 

It was said gently at first, but my hands had already shot out to grip his elbows after his comment and I didn’t realize that my nails were immediately digging into his skin through his jacket and shirt.  The last part of the word was practically yelped.

The Michelangelo hands on the tie stilled.  Blue eyes narrowed at me.

“Sheath your claws, kitten.”

His breath was incredibly soft on my face.  It was like cinnamon, sweet and spicy.

I was still trying to absorb what was happening, what he had said, what he was saying.

He tugged on the tie.

Tugged just shy of gently.

His eyebrows shot up.

No, not eyebrows.

This wasn’t helping the love mauling urge.

Not at all.

I withdrew my claws.

“Hold still,” in a tone that was almost chiding, “I’m nearly done.”

This was unbearable. 

I felt like I was barely able to think in complete sentences, much less speak them.

He finished and turned down my collar, letting his fingers brush against my neck and tracing the line of the white cotton.  I didn’t realize that I had closed my eyes in the effort maintain the last shreds of my dignity until I felt him tap the knot twice and clear his throat.  I started and opened my eyes.  He was frowning, but it disappeared when I focused on his eyes.  He held my gaze for a few seconds, then let his eyes fall to the knot.  I followed his. 

I watched while he let the fingers that had tapped the knot, his index and middle fingers, slowly run down the length of the tie, until it ended just past my waist.

I could swear that he gave his fingertips the teensiest push before he withdrew them.

I was fully clothed and he wasn’t even touching my skin; but I felt naked.

His eyes were like glowing topaz now. 

That velvet voice was going to kill me. 

“There you go.  Properly collared like a good kitten.”

“Kittens don’t like collars,” I replied, surprised at how normal my voice sounded.

He snorted, but it was oddly graceful. 

“Oh, I think this one could be tamed and guided to accept that she likes it.”

I couldn’t help it.

A huge grin decorated my face.

A mirror image of it appeared on his.

I held up my left hand and pointed to the ring finger.

“The only person who will ever have that privilege has to put a size 7 platinum collar here first.  Not studded, but stoned.  The bigger, the better.  And preferably in pink or yellow.”

I thought perhaps that would put a swift end to this very strange event.

But somehow, his smile grew even wider and he let out one of those giggles.

“Are you taking applicants?”

Oh, no.  He didn’t.

_Don’t lose it now, woman!_

“Send me a full resume and I’ll consider you.”

He shoved his hands in the pockets of tux trousers, that delightful flush making him appear like an adorable cupcake.

We stood and grinned at each other like a couple of teenagers at a school dance.

“Are you going to the birthday party?” I asked finally, feeling like my face was going to split if I didn’t stop smiling.

“Yes, indeed, I am.”

“I’ll see you there.  Would you like to pick this up after?  I might be done a little late.”

I bent down to pick up my bag and noticed that a few things had fallen out. 

“That’s good, actually.  It’ll provide me with some time to work on my resume,” he assured me.

I was reaching for a bottle of allergy pills that had rolled close to the little table and he swiftly bent down, placing his lips next to my ear.  I almost fell over when I heard his parting words.

“Don’t let another tomcat steal you away.  Be ready to purr again...little kitty.”


End file.
